First taste of Down House

The check for my breakfast at Down House, a new restaurant in the Heights, arrived tucked into a vintage copy of What Darwin Saw, an excerpted account of the great scientist’s voyages on the Beagle.

I was delighted (I’m a bit of a Darwin nut) but puzzled (not enough of a Darwin nut to know, as a waiter explained to me, that Down House is named after Darwin’s home in Kent). “If it interests you, please feel free to just hang out and read,” the young man invited me. I took him up on it, lingering long enough to polish off a mimosa made with freshly squeezed, pulpy orange juice and savor the grisly details of Darwin’s time among the natives of Tierra del Fuego.

I enjoyed every single moment of that visit, from the local-ingredient-driven food to the exceptional service. I can’t remember when I’ve been showered with so much kind, cheerful attention — the genuine sort, that disarms rather than ends up feeling invasive. (It wasn’t just me; I looked around the big, airy dining room and saw everybody else getting the same treatment.) I even liked the staff dress code: vintage aprons for the girls, dress shirts with rolled up sleeves and tucked-in neckties for the boys.

Down House could well turn out to be my new favorite breakfast place, the kind to which I’ll return when I’m not on duty. There’s a fairly serious coffee program that can produce a good stout cappucino, even if mine wasn’t served quite as hot as I would have liked it. I can’t say enough for the joys of a seasonal local fruit plate that included two entire small rose-flushed peaches, served sliced with their velvety skins still on, plus a scatter of tart raspberries and sweeter blackberries.

Just a little mashed fruit coulis and a blob of whipped cream (not the advertised creme fraiche) were the only adornments. No sugar, no syrups. Nothing masked the gorgeous tart/sweetness of the undoctored fruit. It was a plate that had the courage of its fresh, seasonal convictions.

So did a fluffy omelet filled with sauteed slices of portobello mushroom, tomato, some tart, wilted leaves of arugula and a bit of soft and surprisingly savory ricotta cheese. On the side came a small heap of cherry tomatoes marinated in balsamic — the perfect little jolt of relish to light up the omelet flavors. The eggs? Farm specimens from Dustin Hoeinghaus of Weimar, so they really tasted like something. I can’t wait to try one, fried, on a pulled-pork breakfast torta with slaw and avocado.

I tend to avoid muffins in restaurants and coffeehouses as a bad business. Not here: the house-baked blueberry muffin was high and moist-crumbed and topped with a streusel possessed of enough salt content to set off the gently sweet flavors of the cake. The fresh tart blueberries bled juices, beautifully, putting the muffin over the top. My mom couldn’t have made a better one. The Down House plan seems to be to switch out the fruit on a seasonal basis, so I have plenty to look forward to.

Not just in the muffin and breakfast realm, either. The restaurant’s lunch menu had just gone into effect the day I was there and I could see promising-looking Longhorn burgers sailing by, layered with Texas Gold cheddar cheese and house-made mustard. I liked the sounds of the PBLT with five-spiced pork belly and sriracha; and the sandwich of gouda, chevre, tomato and craft-beer butter on rye. Even the salads read like they’d have some personality.

There’s a fair-trade earnestness at work here, and a careful listing of such ingredient sources as Slow Dough bakery, Buddy’s Chicken, Pola Cheese and Utility Research Garden. The prices seem reasonable, given the quality: luncheon sandwiches are $9 to $11, and salads are $6 to $7; breakfast items run from $3 up to $10 for a smoked-salmon omelet. Dinner’s on the way, at which point wine will enter the picture and the full mission of restaurant/bar/coffeehouse will be complete.

The intangibles add value, too: the daylight that pours into the far end of the dining room; the bonhomie of the staff; the informal feel of the interior, with its cinder-block walls washed in cobalt and its high ceilings marked out in white metal trusswork.

The restaurant building is just a plain brick box with a Federal-style doorway slapped on the front. Inside that door, though, is a nuanced new world where I can imagine myself spending many happy hours.